


Arthur and the Wolf

by Izzy_Grinch



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fairy Tale Style, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Romance, Werewolf Eames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 14:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzy_Grinch/pseuds/Izzy_Grinch
Summary: As a kid, in the darkness of the woods he meets the brightest of the hearts. As an adult, he comes back to find that heart waiting patiently for him.





	Arthur and the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Артур и волк](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2656442) by [Izzy_Grinch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzy_Grinch/pseuds/Izzy_Grinch). 



Little Arthur is smart enough to not run away from a wild beast.

The big wolf is hungry enough to swallow the boy whole.

 

Little Arthur has been strictly told to never trespass the boundary of the dark forest; however his parents are always too busy, and generally his parents do not care at all, they set their bans because they’ve read somewhere it’s necessary to ban loads of things to children.

The big wolf doesn’t have parents; he strolls wherever he wants to, trying not to run into humans though, because humans − and it’s never said in the books − are deadly dangerous. He’s the one to have the strong jaws, but the danger − curious to relate − the danger is the human thing. However, the boy with the scratched knees and a band-aid on his elbow doesn’t seem to be fearsome. Even the hunger isn’t that severe anymore; there’re only thin bones and ears, shining red in the sun, not so much to eat.

 

Little Arthur can’t decide whether he should be confused or horrified. Why is the wolf so huge? Why doesn’t he bite? Will he, Arthur, find the path before the darkness falls? And what is more important, will he be placed under house arrest for his escape and for the loss of keys?

The big wolf has guessed the boy is astray. You can be a wolf and sort out the things like this, it’s not difficult. What is difficult it’s keeping your balance on the hind legs while you’re still a wolf; he tried once and hopes no one saw it.

 

Little Arthur is much too brave for his age. He says with a challenge, worth the adult: “I am walking here.”

The big wolf smiles benevolently, but his grin looks like the last warning before the attack rather than a smile. Realizing this he goes down on his forefeet, so his eyes could be lower than the boy’s ones, open wide, and he wiggles his tail in a foolish manner as a sign of his friendliness. He’s the only of his kind in this forest, so he has to stay friendly with strangers.

 

Little Arthur thinks it’s unacceptable for a real wolf to behave like this. The rottweiler of Mr. Fisher, the youngest one, can fawn because he’s an ordinary dog; however he ought to growl angrily and strain at his chain. Nevertheless, Arthur petted him once.

The big wolf is still, he waits but nothing happens, and so he says that he just wants to be amiable. It sounds like: “Eeeames… woof!”

 

Little Arthur hears the whines and barks of such a big wolf for the first time in his life. The gaunt wolves in the zoo were keeping silent to not ask for troubles. Arthur thinks if this wolf is so weird then he won’t tell anyone the secret Arthur tells him.

“Well… really I’m lost. We just moved here; all the neighbors live behind the tall fences and don’t like any company. So that’s why I was walking alone…” There’s no surprise in talking with a wolf if you have no one else.

“Eeeames…” the wolf sympathizes, and it can be translated as: “I’ll help ye, darling.” The wolf adds “darling” because, firstly, he doesn’t know the boy’s name yet, and, secondly, he is a pretty vulgar wolf, so when trying to be sweet he can’t go against his true nature. _Frankly, he’s not actually a wolf._

Little Arthur believes now that it’s not a wolf in front of him − what kind of wolf would speak like that? − so he decides to share his thoughts with him.

“I came from there, it seems. The road has grown over as if nobody uses it− You’re not the reason? You don’t eat people?”

“Darling,” the big wolf raises his brows reprovingly, “I do look like a wolf, but do I look like a cannibal?” The wolf isn’t short of the foxiness; he ate people, and some of them tasted quite well.

 

Little Arthur hasn’t caught the last word properly, though even without it he has very legitimate reasons to not trust the wolf, who’s so massive that it would require about two dozens of little Arthurs to knock him down, and a hundred − to kill.

The big wolf comes very, very close, treading very, very quietly, and with a noisy sniff he inhales every smell of Arthur at once. The wolf will have to find these smells in the rotten leaves, on the honeysuckle brunches, among the grass, where it was trampled and has straightened again.

 

Little Arthur authoritatively − not a very suitable description of someone who is so small, but the most correct one for the one who is so bold − grasps the fur on the wolf’s withers, even if he can barely reach it.

“We’re heading the wrong way. But you know what you’re doing, yes?”

“Oh, ye can rely on me, darling,” and the big wolf snaps at his own swagger; the boy, however, doesn’t jerk his hand away or stumble while walking hastily alongside the wolf.

The big wolf makes heads or tails of humans, not in the way of who’s mellower and tastier, but in general; he thinks this boy is different from the other humans, not in the way he’s not an option for the wolf’s lunch, but in general.

 

“By the way, my name’s Arthur, if you’re curious.”

“Eames!” the wolf says because he has scented Arthur’s track, but Arthur, who’s already heard that lingering “Eames” more than once, misapprehends him. He thinks the big wolf is called Eames.

 

“It’s a made-up name.”

“Sure it is,” snorts the offended wolf, called Eames. “You’ve just made it up by yerself.”

 

“You’re hiding something, Eames. But you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. And I won’t tell anyone about you! But Mr. Saito has a shotgun, so please stay away from his house.”

The big wolf guides little Arthur back too late; his parents have already returned and found nothing but a hole in the fence and the keys on the ground.

 

Little Arthur is left without dinner, and sitting in his room, he sees the big wolf sitting in his forest without any hint of dinner as well.

Neither Eames nor Arthur is aware of the fact that the house will be sold in a week, for it’s a thing Arthur’s mom does for her work, and that’s why neither Eames nor Arthur has time to say goodbye. 

**_***_ **

Grown-up Arthur can knot his ties masterfully, navigate himself in the foreign streets and remember clearly every dream of his own. Grown-up Arthur buys the old house out for a chump change, and sneezes childishly from dust, accumulated on the creaking floorboards. He pulls on a sweater over his waistcoat and for a long while he smoothens his hair, disturbed by the tight woolen neck. He is independent enough to not brush his hair, though he is still scared of being scolded by someone for the untidy appearance.

Grown-up Arthur crosses the overgrown backyard, climbs over the rickety fence and heads right into the dark forest.

 

Big Eames comes towards him and rises on his hind legs, hiding his claws, his canines, the furious look, the fur, smelling of moss and wet wood. With every step big Eames reminds less and less of a wolf. His tail vanishes, his habits stay.

Big Eames carelessly shakes the fir-needles off his paisley shirt.

 

Grown-up Arthur makes a face. He prefers the muted textures and the thin stripes to the gaudy paisley designs.

Grown-up Arthur looks at the broad palms of the former wolf and doesn’t even try to hide his smile when they embrace him warmly around his back.

 

Big Eames still sees delicate Arthur as the small and tiny. He cleans his throat and laughs huskily: “And I was ‘bout to eat ye, darling.”

The ears of grown-up Arthur start flushing, and the unceremonious werewolf Eames can now stop blaming himself for his wolfish audacity.


End file.
